


not in better spirits

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Category: Gilbert & Sullivan & Related Fandoms, Iolanthe - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Dialogue, M/M, look... this is gay, mountararat is having a terrible day because i can't let him have a good day, private willis just IS your dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: i love.....phyllis. i also love tolloller and mountararat. mountararat showing up early and telling phyllis about The History Of The House Of Peers was present in an early version of iolanthe with a song titled "de belville was regarded as the crichton of his age", which you can find the full text ofhere, along with a Victorian Shitpost. to avoid me boring you with it (and mountararat boring phyllis with it), it has been commuted to the tail-end of a conversation that mountararat was having with tolloller. (or, more accurately, something that mountararat was saying At tolloller.)dialogue between phyllis, tolloller, and mountararat is more or less entirely lifted (minus a couple of lines wherein phyllis doesn't know who tolloller and mountararat are) from from gilbert's libretto (i have the schirmer edition), but emphasis and general........method of Doing the dialogue is my own. if you want to know how the characters look, for phyllis imagine philippa soo, for mountararat imagine ben barnes when he was playing dorian gray and for tolloller and willis.................man i don't know. i have NO idea how tolloller looks.phyllis' surname came from a victorian surname generator because she needed one. i know tolloller and mountararat aren't...actually t. and m.'s surnames but like hell can i be bothered to come up with ACTUAL surnames for my boys, or at least not ones that would work for them.(is that a reference in there to ruddigore? why of course.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i love.....phyllis. i also love tolloller and mountararat. mountararat showing up early and telling phyllis about The History Of The House Of Peers was present in an early version of iolanthe with a song titled "de belville was regarded as the crichton of his age", which you can find the full text of [_here_](http://www.savoyoperas.org.uk/iolanthe/io12.html), along with a Victorian Shitpost. to avoid me boring you with it (and mountararat boring phyllis with it), it has been commuted to the tail-end of a conversation that mountararat was having with tolloller. (or, more accurately, something that mountararat was saying At tolloller.)
> 
> dialogue between phyllis, tolloller, and mountararat is more or less entirely lifted (minus a couple of lines wherein phyllis doesn't know who tolloller and mountararat are) from from gilbert's libretto (i have the schirmer edition), but emphasis and general........method of Doing the dialogue is my own. if you want to know how the characters look, for phyllis imagine philippa soo, for mountararat imagine ben barnes when he was playing dorian gray and for tolloller and willis.................man i don't know. i have NO idea how tolloller looks.
> 
> phyllis' surname came from a victorian surname generator because she needed one. i know tolloller and mountararat aren't...actually t. and m.'s surnames but like hell can i be bothered to come up with ACTUAL surnames for my boys, or at least not ones that would work for them.
> 
> (is that a reference in there to ruddigore? why of course.)

Despite the fact that she was a supposedly “uneducated” ward of the court and a lowly shepherdess, Phyllis Lyon excelled at a great many things. She had learned to read despite only having the most basic of educations and only up until she was eleven. She had a natural way with sheep that had lead her into a relationship with Strephon. But mainly, she was good at getting what she wanted.

That was why this situation had her so riled up.

Of course, she had managed to observe which of the Lords would be the best bet, actually, to marry if she had to. It couldn’t be the Lord Chancellor because, although she genuinely cared about him and thought him to be a very kind man, there was something off-putting about how open he was with his attraction to her. Most of the rest of the Lords were old enough to be her father, if not older.

That left her with six: The Viscount Charles of Hayling was the least likely, in that he never seemed to do anything. Every time she had encountered him, Phyllis had been struck by how _boring_ he seemed. At first, she had taken it as shyness and anxiety, because Tolloller was constantly hovering somewhere near him, so she tried to get him on his own and talk to him personally – just the two of them. At that point, she discovered that it was nothing to do with Tolloller, and he was just that dull to talk to.

Then, there were The Marquises of Wessex and Mengham, Roger and James (or was it James and Roger? She could never remember). They had no discernible personality traits between them, and they were also completely interchangeable. Finally, Phyllis feared that if she _did_ marry one of them, she would also have “married” the other, because they were inseparable. She hated it.

Richard, Baronet of Ruddigore, was the most remarkable of the house of Lords. However, he was also a bully and drunk excessively, and she had heard whispers that there was some historic curse on his family. This also made him the least desirable.

Finally, there were the two Earls that she was making an effort to play off against one another. George of Mountararat was something, certainly – he had a dangerous look to him and she had occasionally caught him smirking at her out of the corner of his eye with a look which she couldn’t quite call _judgemental_ , but it was also one that she didn’t appreciate. However, he was frighteningly rich, in his early thirties, and for all intents and purposes rather handsome. She got the feeling that if she married him she would be left more or less to herself.

Mountararat also seemed to have a lot more sense than Tolloller.

While Phyllis could see that Tolloller wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ person, she was still somewhat offended by his words the other day. “You’re incredibly lowly-born, but _I_ can more than make up for it!” The only reason she hadn’t punched him in the nose was the fact that she could tell his heart wasn’t in it, and Mountararat’s expression where he was stood behind Tolloller. Stupid though he was, she had come to realise that there wasn’t an ounce of actual _malice_ in Tolloller. And he was the leader of the House of Lords, whatever that meant, which had to count for something.

She could hear a sound as she entered the courtyard, of something like bells, or giggles, or both, but by the time her eyes adjusted to the dark whatever the source was had gone. Only Private Willis was there. When he saw that it was only Phyllis, he smiled at her. Phyllis waved briefly at him, and then flopped down melodramatically on a bench.

“I can’t think why I’m not in better spirits,” she said to herself, and then looked around. Willis wasn’t looking at her. “I’m engaged to two noblemen at once, that ought to be enough to make _any_ girl happy.” She certainly wasn’t lying, on any level. Even though she had acted coldly towards him, she was upset by Strephon’s infidelity. “But I’m miserable.”

Private Willis opened his mouth to interject. Before he could, Phyllis cut back in. “Don’t suppose it’s because I care for Strephon,” she said severely, “for I _hate_ him.” Private Willis, who had a daughter of Phyllis’ age, knew better than to try to disagree, and let her continue. “No girl could care for a man who goes about with a mother considerably younger than himself.” Her tone was mocking, but the point still stood.

“…And besides,” said a voice somewhere nearby, “had de Belville’s cousin not died, I very much doubt either of _us_ would be here.”

“So you’ve told me, George. _Frequently_.” The owner of the second voice sounded as though he was planning to throttle whoever was talking to – or rather _at_ – him.

“You, particularly, would not be here.” But it wasn’t said with any real malice.

“If it helps you sleep at night I’ll endorse any fantasy you fancy.” Phyllis finally recognised the two voices as those of Tolloller and Mountararat. She assumed that it was Mountararat talking about this de Belville man, because he seemed to her to be the sort to discourse on incredibly dry and boring subjects.

“ _You_ would,” Mountararat said, in a jokingly dark tone.

Phyllis got up just as the two of them approached her, and curtsied awkwardly. It was something she had never been able to get used to doing, and just one of the reasons she hoped that the two of them would argue over here for a good while. “Well, have you settled which it’s to be?” It was best to get straight to the point.

Tolloller looked, baffled, at Mountararat for a moment – but when Mountararat shrugged, Tolloller laughed nervously. “Not all together,” he admitted, in a tone which made Phyllis think what he actually meant was “not at all, in any way”. “It’s a difficult position,” he went on, “and it would be hardly delicate to toss up. On the whole, we would rather leave it to you.”

Oh joy. “How can it possibly concern me?” Phyllis asked, genuinely puzzled. She thought she had made the fact that she wasn’t remotely attracted to _either_ of them abundantly obvious earlier. “You are both earls, you are both rich, and…” She looked Tolloller up and down, because looking Mountararat in the eye was an uncomfortable enough experience when she wasn’t lying to his face. “ _And_ you are both plain.”

“So we are.” Mountararat smiled, and gently nudged Tolloller in the ribs. “At least, I am.” Phyllis thought, for a brief moment, that she knew what Mountararat was angling for, but then decided that she didn’t. Yes, they were both ahead of Tolloller, but she was a mere one step ahead. Mountararat was half of London away.

“So am I.” Tolloller shrugged.

“No, no.” If Mountararat had thought about what he had said, he clearly hadn’t thought very hard about it.

“Yes, I am indeed very plain,” Tolloller said. He sounded genuinely confused, and not in the sort of way he had sounded earlier when everything had clearly been going at a speed _slightly_ quicker than he was capable of following. If she hadn’t known better Phyllis would have thought that he was reconsidering his feelings for Mountararat.

“Well—” Mountararat cut himself off and looked Tolloller up and down. “Well. Perhaps you are.” He looked away in what he clearly intended to be a noncommittal way. Tolloller and Phyllis frowned at each other.

“There’s really nothing to choose between you,” Phyllis said, mostly to break the awkward silence. “If one of you were to forego his title and distribute his estate amongst his Irish tenantries, why I should then see a reason for accepting the _other_ ,” Phyllis said. Once she had ascertained that Tolloller and Mountararat indeed _had_ risen to the bait, she went back over to the fence, leaving them alone to bicker over her.

“Tolloller, are you prepared to make this _sacrifice_?” Mountararat’s tone was lofty, but tinged with irony.

“No.” Either way, Tolloller didn’t rise to it. Mountararat cursed himself, and Tolloller.

“Not even to oblige a lady?” Even if Mountararat hadn’t been looking at him, he would have known precisely the way Tolloller’s eyebrows had risen at the comment – which was a stupid one, really, considering Tolloller’s habits.

“No, not even to oblige a lady,” Tolloller said. He had learned, Mountararat realised. A few years ago, he probably would have continued that sentence and said something incriminating, but he just stopped dead now.

Mountararat sighed. “Well, then the only question _is_ , which of us shall give way to the other?” Mountararat asked. Still no response. Glowering up at Tolloller, Mountararat continued with a line that he _thought_ would annoy Tolloller. “Perhaps on the whole she might be happier with me,” he went on. Tolloller slightly quirked one eyebrow. “I don’t _know_ , of course,” he said, with obviously fake innocence. “I may be _wrong_.” He grinned.

Mountararat was half expecting to have anger directed at him, and thought that his theory had been confirmed when Tolloller half way turned away from him. Instead, he laughed nervously, and Mountararat began to get worried. “No, I don’t know that you are,” Tolloller said, uncharacteristically quietly. “I really believe she would.”

“Well I wouldn’t say—”

But Tolloller cut Mountararat off before he could finish what he was saying. “But the awkward part of the thing _is_ that, if you rob me of the… _girl of my heart—_ ” He had clearly said that more for Phyllis’ benefit than for himself—“we must might and one of us must die. It’s a…” He looked away, searching for the right words. “It’s a family tradition, that I swore to respect.

Mountararat studied Tolloller’s face for a few seconds to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.

Tolloller didn’t speak for a long time. “It’s a painful position,” he said, “for I… have a very strong regard for you, George.”

_Shit._

“My dear Thomas.” Mountararat didn’t know what else he _could_ say.

Phyllis, who had only been paying half her attention to what she had assumed would be an extremely boring conversation between the two men, suddenly looked up and directly at them. She was glad that neither of them was facing directly towards her, and therefore that neither of them was looking in her direction, because she was certain that she looked utterly ridiculous. This certainly gave some context to Tolloller’s incredibly awkward attempt to make conversation with her.

“You are very dear to me, George,” Tolloller continued, as Phyllis snuck up behind him to eavesdrop. “We were boys together, or at least _I_ was.” Phyllis wasn’t quite sure what that meant but the way Tolloller said it made it sound filthy. “If I were to survive you—” He looked away, and Phyllis slid back— “My existence would be _hopelessly_ embittered.”

“Then, my dear Thomas, you must not do it!” Mountararat stuttered. “I say it again and again: if it will have this effect upon you then you must not do it.” He glared down at the ground for a moment. “No. No, if one of us is to destroy the other, let it be me.”

This was not going the way _any_ of them had anticipated it going.

Tolloller started to say something, but Mountararat cut him off again. “By our boyish friendship, I implore you.” He didn’t have the same snide tone which seemed to suggest that he thought everybody was below him now, and he actually sounded panicked. Phyllis considered wading in to try to calm them down, but then realised that this was something that had been festering for years and that they _needed_ to talk about.

“Well… well be it so.” Tolloller put his hands up. Phyllis, relieved, took a step back. “But – no. No, I cannot consent to an act that would crush you with unavailing remorse.” Clearly, Tolloller thought he knew where this was going.

This was Tolloller, though. He never knew where even the most straightforward conversation was going, and this was far from being straightforward. “But it would not do so,” Mountararat said, his tone suddenly dark. “I should be very sad at first,” Mountararat said, almost as a concession. “Oh, who would not be?” He paused for a moment, as though considering his next move. “ _But it would wear off_.” Phyllis didn’t need to be looking at Tolloller to know that he was hurt. “I like you very much, Thomas,” Mountararat added, “but not… perhaps as much as you like me.”

“George, you’re a noble fellow.” Tolloller’s tone was flat. “But that tell-tale tear betrays you. No, George, you _are_ very fond of me, and I-and I can’t consent to give you a week’s uneasiness on _my account_!” Even though she knew she shouldn’t, Phyllis desperately wanted to intervene, not least because she could hear from the tone of his voice that Tolloller was nearly crying.

“But, Thomas, it would not last a week,” Mountararat said coldly. “Remember, you lead the House of Lords; on _your_ demise, _I_ shall take your place.” Oh God. “Oh, _Thomas_ , it would not last a day!” As soon as he had said it, Mountararat clearly regretted snapping at Tolloller like that. He took a step back and sunk down onto the bench, putting his head into his hands.

“I do hope you’re not going to fight over me,” Phyllis said, regretting not having spoken up earlier. She slipped her hand through Tolloller’s arm apologetically. “Because it really isn’t worth it.”

Tolloller looked blankly at her for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, I…don’t believe it is.” His tone was completely numb. Phyllis’ stomach twisted.

“Nor I,” Mountararat said, into his hands, after a few seconds. “The sacred ties of friendship are paramount?”

By the time Mountararat was finally able to bring himself to look up, Tolloller had already slunk away. Unsure of what to do otherwise, Phyllis tapped Private Willis on the arm and the two of them watched Mountararat leave in the other direction.

“They fight every day,” Private Willis told her gently, offering his arm. Phyllis took it gratefully. “Just you wait and see. Next time you see them they’ll be back in each other’s arms as though nothing ever happened.”

“You think so?” Phyllis asked hopefully.

“I know they will.” Private Willis’ confidence was touching, Phyllis thought, but probably unfounded. This was the sort of argument, she knew from experience, that would take a long time to fix.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i should State, For The Record, that mountararat has some........some serious problems with internalised homophobia, because this is the late 19th century and it was illegal. (i usually describe him as having "a touch of oscar wilde" but that's more in physical appearance than personality. apart from the sarcasm and Maudlin Attitude.)
> 
> the lord chancellor knows, in his heart of hearts, that tolloller and mountararat are into each other, but he's also really... really oblivious. so tolloller and mountararat could quite literally make out in his Physical Presence and he wouldn't notice anything was different. (is this because they usually have so much sexual tension that he's just kinda started tuning it out? really, yes.)
> 
> this is not ENTIRELY canon dialogue, in that i gave tolloller the last bit of mountararat's Bizarro Infodump Speech to show willing and also because mountararat needs to shut up from time to time. otherwise, however, it is words that are being said in canon (and that, in some cases, i have said Mine Own Self. i loved playing tolloller). there's also an earlier line for mountararat earlier in the final scene which i didn't give him because without mountararat marrying a fairy it........didn't really make sense. (the line is "it's our fault. they couldn't help themselves.") assume whichever peer actually did marry leila said that line.
> 
> having written tolloller getting Extremely Drunk i feel like the title of this fic may well be, as well as a direct quotation of phyllis, an alcohol pun. (for a man with a pathological fear of alcohol and drunk people, the concept, i certainly write a whole bunch of characters getting completely smashed. it's a hobby.)
> 
> finally (with apologies to a friend. just generally. this is quite... quite gay), mountararat's aloe vera plant is dying because he's been pining over tolloller for years. don't ask me about the biology of a plant dying because its owner is, simply, too gay and then perking up when he is kissed by the guy who he's been angsting over. because it's probably just fairy bullshit. don't question it. (it's a concept that also appears in a fic that i started but never managed to finish, but i decided to transfer it over here because it amused me.)
> 
> ANYWAY [raises arms] IT IS D O N E

Tolloller had at first considered going home and just crawling under at least twelve quilts in the hopes of never waking up again, but when he had reached his front door he had wanted just to carry on walking. So, he had done so. He lived half an hour or so away from the Houses of Parliament – that was on foot, if he was walking relatively fast. He had thought that the forty-five minutes of walking it had taken him to get home would help to clear his head, but he was just left with worse problems.

After he fumbled with the key for a few seconds and he couldn’t persuade it into the lock, he gave up and started walking back to the Houses of Parliament. He knew there was a bottle of whiskey in the desk in his office, and he always kept a hip-flask, filled with either rum or vodka (he had forgotten which, because he hadn’t needed it for the past few days), in the inside pocket of his coat. He knew that getting drunk wouldn’t help for long, but at the same time it would temporarily quell the inclination to fling himself into the river.

Mountararat, on the other hand, had set out with the express intention of going for a walk. He did this extremely frequently; usually just because he was bored or because he had run out of things to do in the office but he didn’t want to go home and Tolloller was either busy or not present. It took him along the length of the bank of the Thames and within a few minutes of where Tolloller lived. For a minute, Mountararat considered calling in to try to smooth things over, but then he realised that he shouldn’t. Tolloller had clearly been upset, and he wouldn’t want to see him.

Instead, he lingered, leaning against a wall that came just up to his sternum, and looked out at the river. It was certainly a pretty mess he had made, he thought. And he knew Tolloller. It would take him years to actually _forgive_ Mountararat. And that was only if he even _did_ forgive him; there was every chance that Tolloller would turn his back on him completely and never talk to him again after this.

Usually, Mountararat would have considered Tolloller’s slightly melodramatic turns petty. This hypothetical choice, though, he could completely understand, not least because if Tolloller had done it to him he would have done the same probably.

Still, there was no point in trying to second guess the reactions of a man whose moods seemed to be dictated by the phase of the moon, the temperature, and whether he had seen a horse that day. Tolloller had no real handle on his emotions, so Mountararat didn’t want to try to affect one either.

By the time Mountararat got back to the Houses of Parliament the sun was just starting to come up, making the place look slightly grey. It fitted Mountararat’s mood perfectly. He went back to his office for a while, but he had always found the place depressing. When he was also having an absolutely dreadful day he couldn’t make himself stay there for more than about ten minutes. He watered his half-dead aloe vera plant, and then went back out to clear his head.

Usually the Lord Chancellor – a short man in his late fifties with a slight frame and sad, dark eyes – was a very circumspect old gentleman. This could have meant anything, but in this case, it meant that he wasn’t the sort of man who was inclined to fall asleep outside the Houses of Parliament on a bench, still fully-dressed. For a good few seconds, Mountararat was completely convinced that he was seeing things, but then the Chancellor stirred.

Mountararat almost started towards him, but then he saw Tolloller out of the corner of his eye. He looked like a total mess, his hands shaking, his coat slightly askew, and a hip-flask clasped in his right hand. Mountararat usually would have come up with some sarcastic comment, but now he forced himself to look away. Tolloller gestured towards the Chancellor, and Mountararat finally chanced stepping forwards.

“I am much distressed to see your Lordship in this condition.” He knew he must have sounded uncomfortable, but he also knew that it was the Chancellor he was talking to, so he wouldn’t notice.

“Ah, my Lords.” The Chancellor smiled wanly up as Tolloller came up the other side of him. “It is seldom that a Lord Chancellor has reason to envy the position of another, but I am free to confess that I would rather be two earls engaged to Phyllis than any other half dozen noblemen upon the face of the globe.” He said it with a smile, but Mountararat could still hear the upset in his tone.

“Yes,” Tolloller grumbled, his voice slightly slurred. So, he had had more than just the flask; Mountararat knew that he could hold his liquor. “It’s an enviable position,” he said, looking straight at Mountararat. Mountararat looked away. “When you’re the only one.”

Mountararat forced himself to look back at Tolloller, and slowly shook his head at the taller man. “Oh, yes – no doubt most enviable,” he agreed. “At the same time,” he went on, “seeing you thus, we naturally say to ourselves… ‘This is very sad’.” There was an attempt, but that was all that could be said for it.

 _Do we?_ Tolloller mouthed at him.

Rather than replying, Mountararat put his hand out for the flask, and when Tolloller relinquished it, he continued: “His Lordship is constitutionally as blithe as a bird – he trills upon the bench like a thing of song and gladness. His series of judgments in F Sharp minor, given andante in six-eight time, are among the most remarkable effects ever produced in a Court of Chancery. He is, perhaps, the only living instance of a judge whose decrees have received the honour of a double encore.” Somehow, nothing that Mountararat was saying was _technically_ false. It still sounded absolutely ridiculous, but that was the idea.

“How can we bring ourselves to do that which will deprive the Court of Chancery of one of its most attractive features?” Tolloller agreed. Mountararat wanted to jump on him and kiss him, but he managed to maintain his composure.

“I feel the force of your remarks,” the Chancellor said, in what Mountararat would probably have classified as a fatherly tone, “but I am here in two capacities – and they clash, my Lords, they clash!” He sighed. “I deeply grieve to say that in declining to entertain my last application to myself, I presumed to address myself in terms which render it impossible for me ever to apply to myself again.” He looked between Tolloller and Mountararat. “It was a most painful scene, my Lords. Most painful.”

“This is what it is to have two capacities.” As Tolloller spoke, he came over to the side of the bench Mountararat was stood at. “Let us be thankful that we are persons of no capacity whatever.” It was said with no malice, and Tolloller gently nudged Mountararat in the ribs to show no hard feelings.

Relieved, Mountararat put his arm around Tolloller’s waist. “Come, come. Remember, you are a very just and kindly old gentleman, and you need have _no_ hesitation in approaching yourself—” He punctuated this phrase with a series of sharp jabs to Tolloller’s ribs— “So that you do so respectfully, and with a proper show of deference.” Tolloller laughed softly, and jabbed him back.

“Do you really think so?” the Chancellor asked, looking hopeful.

“I do,” Mountararat said, with complete sincerity.

“Well, I will nerve myself to another effort!” The Chancellor leapt to his feet. “And if that fails, I resign myself to my fate.”

As soon as the Chancellor had practically bounded off, Tolloller frowned at Mountararat. “Is it off with Phyllis, then?” he asked.

“You tell me.” Mountararat gently pushed him away and went to sit down on the bench.

“I wasn’t really thinking about her at the time,” Tolloller said.

Mountararat looked away. When he looked back, Tolloller was grinning easily at him, swaying slightly from side to side and buoying himself against the back of the bench. Mountararat knew he was drunk, but fortunately Tolloller was a very endearing drunk.

“I’ll give you the flask back,” he said, knowing that it was what Tolloller was angling for. He held it just out of Tolloller’s reach until Tolloller sat on the bench beside him rather than looming over him. “How long have you been thinking about that?” he asked, not entirely certain of what “that” really constituted.

“Put it down to Phyllis’ influence,” Tolloller said, drinking a swig from the flask in his hand before he offered it to Mountararat. He shook his head. “Or at least, a long time.” He shrugged.

“That was two very different answers,” Mountararat said wryly. Tolloller shrugged and tucked the empty flask back into the inside pocket of his coat. “Back to the office?” he suggested.

“Yours?” Tolloller asked.

“If you like.” Mountararat tried to sound calm, but he must have failed. Tolloller laughed giddily and burrowed his face into Mountararat’s shoulder. “Sentimental bastard,” Mountararat laughed, leaning over and running his fingers gently through Tolloller’s hair.

Somehow, when they got back to Mountararat’s office, his aloe vera plant, which had been more brown than green when he had left, seemed to have perked up. Tolloller didn’t notice, and Mountararat didn’t question it.

The window in Mountararat’s office looked out directly onto Palace Yard, and he could see that something was happening out there. He pushed Tolloller off the desk where he had decided to perch when they had arrived, and looked out of the window. He couldn’t tell quite what was going on, but it looked like something that required his attention.

Apparently Tolloller was also interested, and more so than Mountararat, because he had put his coat back on, having removed it when they had arrived. Mountararat threw his coat over his shoulders, and the two of them headed out into Palace Yard.

They arrived just as the Queen of the Fairies was writing something in a large tome. If she noticed them, she gave no sign of it. “Private Willis?” she called loudly.

“Ma’am?” For a man so unused to being acknowledged, he seemed remarkably calm about being called forward by a monarch. But that was probably what you wanted in a palace guard. Somebody unflappable.

“To save my life, it is necessary that I marry at once.” Clearly, Tolloller and Mountararat had missed something in the interim. Or a _lot_ of somethings. “How should you like to be a Fairy Guardsman?” she asked.

There was a gasp from the assembled peers, and some excited giggling from the fairies, but Private Willis was undeterred. “Well, Ma’am, I don’t think much of the British soldier who wouldn’t ill-convenience himself to save a female in distress.”

“You are a brave fellow,” the Queen said, smiling. “You’re a fairy from this moment.” She looked at Tolloller and Mountararat, and Mountararat had the uneasy sensation of his thoughts being slightly rearranged. “And you, my Lords?” she asked. “How say you? Will you join our ranks?”

The fairies and the peers seemed to have paired off, and Mountararat was suddenly aware that Strephon’s bill had got through successfully. “Well, now that the Peers are to be recruited solely from persons of intellect, I don’t see what use we are down here,” he said. “Do you, Tolloller?” He jabbed Tolloller lazily in the ribs.

“None, whatever,” Tolloller said, very close to Mountararat’s ear.

Mountararat knew that the Queen said something to the gathered fairies and peers, but whatever it was didn’t register with Mountararat, because before she said it, Tolloller had turned Mountararat to face him, put one hand low on Mountararat’s back, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like adding that the plant is a metaphor for me, in that i, too, am revivified only by tolloller and mountararat kissing


End file.
